Light To Darkness Break
by Anera527
Summary: AU after OotP. The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.
1. Chapter 1

"_**Light To Darkness Break"**_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- everything belongs to Jo Rowling, God bless her.

A/N- Hi, me again. This is a story I've been working on for a long time, for maybe a year, and I'm finally posting it up here. Just to tell those who read this, the storyline is _exceedingly_ dark. My sister is my unofficial beta reader, and she has trouble reading through it because it's so dark for her. Needless to say, as a ten fighting depression, this story is my way of siphoning off some rather dark and depressing thoughts or emotions. Please read and review, but no flames! Another side note: this is a manipulative Dumbledore fanfic, although he's dead since the first chapter.

_**Prologue:**_

Was this the end? Was this the very last battle of the Wizarding world? Snape and the rest of the people on the battlefield, Order members and Death Eaters alike, froze in mid-curse; the sound of Potter Disapparating had been too quiet to hear over the sounds of battle but seemed to draw every eye.

Who would triumph?

Evidently the Death Eaters thought they would, and would see their master finally triumphant and in the seat of power, because they immediately fell to fighting more ferociously than before, so that Snape had to call upon a Shield Charm so often it looked permanent.

"Traitor!" Bellatrix screeched at him, her wide eyes crazed with hate and adrenaline. Her wand was pointed rigidly at him, accusing and damning. "Traitor to the cause! Filthy half-blood! How dare you betray us!"

"It was the smartest move I ever made!" Snape snapped back, casting a curse at her with such force she was forced back a step. At the same moment a Death Eater's curse blasted into the castle's walls and with an awful noise they collapsed upon themselves, sending up a mighty cloud of dust and dirt. Chunks of stone blew through the air and fell upon the two fighting armies, sending many to the ground. Snape and Bellatrix dove away from the danger, but he lost sight of her when a giant's foot fell upon the ground beside them.

It seemed the ending of the world: Screams of pain or rage, shouted curses, and the dust hanging in the air made it difficult to recognize friend from foe. Distracted as he was deflecting spells sent his way, and replying with his own, Snape didn't see the body he tripped over until he was actually on the ground beside it. Cursing his own stupidity, he looked at the face—

And abruptly stopped. It was one of the Weasley's, perhaps the eldest. Unbidden and against his will he felt pity grip his stomach. The Weasleys had already lost two children- why did they have to lose another?

'_Damn it all, Severus!'_ he mentally berated himself. _'You can't be thinking like this. It won't matter how many Weasley's have died- it would be better if we all died here rather than to see _him_ victorious.'_

Better, indeed.


	2. Not Dead, Just Reborn

"_**Chapter One: Not Dead, Just Reborn"**_

_~The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.~_

"Advance to the grounds! Bring them to their knees!"

The voice, so familiar to Severus Snape- one he could not quite place- rang out clearly even in the midst of battle. Hogwarts was in total chaos, attacked as it was by Voldemort's Death Eaters. Bedlam reigned. Students' screams shivered through the air, punctuated by the shouting of charms and curses. Snape saw McGonagall and Kingsley fighting for their lives against two masked Death Eaters, noticed Flitwick slammed to the ground, Sprout using many of her most dangerous plants to fight the foes who were attacking so ferociously, saw Dumbledore weaving through the crowd-

Dumbledore?

It was then that he knew that he was in a dream- Dumbledore was dead, and been so for several months. He had not been at the battle of Hogwarts; his body was entombed in a marble grave set upon the grounds of the castle. It had been years since Voldemort had begun to rise in power, and Hogwarts had become one of the few places safe from the Dark Lord's hold. Ever since Dumbledore's death, however, the Wizarding world in Britain had been struggling to fight against Voldemort's Death Eaters.

It did not help, either, that Harry Potter had completely disappeared five years ago. It was remarkable- he had completely vanished from Hogwarts at the end of his fifth years, and not a hide or hair was ever found of him. Even more amazing was that all of the boy's belongings had not been touched- it was as if he had gone for a walk one night and been abducted. The Ministry of Magic had combed every inch of Europe looking for Potter but he had never been found. The wizards and witches had then had to accept that the Boy Who Lived was dead.

Slowly, Snape came fully awake but did not yet open his eyes He was somewhere dark, as no light penetrated his eyesight. It was cold, but not bitterly so- it felt most like the Potions rooms Snape had taught in at Hogwarts. He didn't know where he was, except that he was more likely than not in one of Voldemort's hidden manors. As for the battle that had transpired when he had been captured, he didn't know how long ago it had ended- how long had he been unconscious? All he remembered was dueling fiercely with Lucius Malfoy when a voice behind him had called his name and he had spun to find a masked Death Eater staring back at him. In that maddeningly familiar voice he had said, "Ben having fun as Dumbledore's spy?" and had Stunned him. But how…?

"I can assure you," that same familiar voice said softly, "that you have not been Stunned for long- no more than a day, at least."

Snape opened his eyes and spied a shadowed figure standing near him, dressed in simple green robes, a wand held in long, thin fingers. Torchlight, he noticed now, burned softly in the darkness and slowly his eyesight adjusted to tell him that he was chained to a cold brick wall, still wearing his muddied, torn clothing he'd fought in during the battle. As he became aware of exactly _who_ was standing in front of him, wearing such a deadly grin, made him wish he still had his eyes closed. He tensed in shock and could not keep it completely from his voice. _"Potter?"_

There he stood, tall and imposing, wearing—now that Snape could see clearly—the green and silver of a Slytherin. _He must be near twenty now._ The thin face, the pale skin, and the wild jet-black hair were all the same, but the transition of going from boy to man was clearly apparent; his features were sharp and strong, his shoulders broad and firm, his thin frame lean and powerful.

But it was his eyes that were most changed. Still the bright green of his mother Lily's eyes, they shone with a Dark, malicious intent. Potter _never_ looked like that, his eyes never showed such emotion. Anger, yes. Confusion, certainly. Fear? Definitely.

Snape had never, however, seen those expressive eyes look so cold or heartless- they spoke now of years of anguish and horror, and the harshness of living a life of Hell.

But whatever he thought now, it did not matter, and Potter was suddenly pointing his wand at him so that the potions' master was suddenly in intense pain, so much so that he couldn't help but cry out and tense against his restraints. The agony was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and he was left with his body aching, looking up at Potter, who simply sneered down at him. "It's "Lord" Potter now, Snape," he replied in that same soft, dangerous tone. "It's best you remember that."

"A _dead_ Lord, obviously," Snape sneered right back. "Or did you not know that the great Harry Potter was pronounced dead five years ago?" Oh, how he wanted to wipe the smirk off Potter's face…

The boy spread his arms. "Not dead, my dear professor, just… _reborn_." He chuckled darkly to himself. "And what a tale it is."

"Entertaining our guest so soon, young Harry?" a low voice asked from the doorway. Snape stiffened in surprise, a cold thrill sliding down his spine, but Potter did not look ruffled in the least as he turned and bowed his head respectfully. "My Lord."

And Lord Voldemort himself walked into the room, followed by five of his cowering Death Eaters. His snake-like face was eager and triumphant, the flat slits of a nose dilated with pleasure. He paid only a glance at Potter, who stood quietly in submission, then turned to Snape. "Ah, Severus, how kind of you to join us! I knew it was only a matter of time before you were caught, and it works in Harry's favor that it was he who caught you!" Now he reached behind him and delicately stroked the boy's cheek. Potter made no move, nor did he give any signs of discomfort at the Dark Lord's touch. "Such a good lad, is he not?" he hissed quietly to Snape, his red eyes glowing with satisfaction. "I must say, it came as a surprise to me when Potter was brought before me by Bellatrix Lestrange five years ago, asking for my help and guidance! But his training has been good and he has learned his lessons well. How he has grown under my tutelage!" He lowered his hand. "But I can see he was about to tell you the whole story anyway, so I must leave him to it as he thinks of a fitting punishment for you."

_Now_ Potter looked surprised. His bright green eyes sparked with curiosity. "My Lord?"

Voldemort continued to stare down at Snape, who felt his blood run cold. "You have caught this man, have you not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And have you not served me most faithfully for these past five years?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded as if answering his own questions. "You have earned this right- more than any Death Eater ever has. Do not fail me."

And Potter bowed again. "No, my Lord. Never."

"Then I leave you with the traitor as I attempt to rid my clothes of Mudblood filth." And he swept off with the five Death Eaters.

"Where are we?" Snape asked finally after many long silent moments had passed. He refused to look up at Potter.

"Somewhere hidden," came the boy's snide response. "Not to worry, Snape, none of your petty Phoenix Order members can come to your aide. There is no way of finding this place if you do not know where to look."

"You know this, then?" Snape snapped, very sarcastically.

Potter wagged the wand in his hand at him. "Manners, Snape, manners, or I'll be forced to teach you about them. But as to this place, of _course_ I know." And now he laughed humorously. "After all, this has been my home for the past five years."

"What happened, Potter? Albus was worried-"

But before he could finish, Potter's wand was pointed at his throat. "You will not mention that man's name in front of me! He is the whole reason for why this happened!"

"And why is that, Potter?" Snape sneered, unable to help himself. "Did he find another Golden Boy?"

Wrong thing to say. He was hit again with intense pain, this time until he was screaming and writhing against his restraints. Then finally the curse was lifted and sweet relief flooded in… until he caught sight of Potter.

The boy was pacing, clearly furious, the heels of his boots clicking smartly on the stone floor. But then Potter turned to him again, his anger still seething below the surface. His eyes sparked with malice. "Five years ago, as you will obviously remember, my godfather died in the Department of Mysteries, leaving me alone and to place the blame on myself. Afterwards, I was told by Dumbledore that of _course_ it wasn't my fault that Sirius died, assuring me that it was his failings that brought along his death." He snarled suddenly in a dangerous way and Snape felt a shiver run through him at the sight of how wolf-like the boy looked. "As if I didn't need the assurances of _that_, either… But he said that due to my "bravery and heroic actions at the Ministry of Magic" he wanted me to join the Order of the Phoenix. I refused. At the time I was afraid that Voldemort would be able to spy upon the Order through the link we share. He became irrationally angry towards me, said that if I did not join and bring Voldemort down, millions would die." His lip curled. "He ruffled my feathers all right, I told him I already had Sirius's death on my shoulders, why not add a few more?" He laughed now, one without mirth, a sound that was flat and dead. "I guess I angered him. Maybe frightened him. He shot the Killing Curse at me, saying that he had not worked to bring me this far just so I could back out now."

Snape's insides clenched. "I don't believe that."

Potter met his gaze, all emotion gone from his face. "Believe it, Snape. Why should I lie? Didn't you always say that I was horrible at it?" A cruel grin now. "Or do you just not want to believe that the great Albus Dumbledore is anything less than the perfect hero?" Here he paused. The cruelty in his expression deepened. "Oh, forgive me, did I say _is_? I meant _was_."

"I'm sure it was a great victory for your master," Snape growled.

One of Potter's black eyebrows sidled upwards. "What makes you think that it was _Voldemort_ who killed him?"

Icy horror flooded through Snape. "You mean, it was _you…?"_ That was a memory he would always remember, finding the Headmaster dead on the grounds of Hogwarts. He recalled the look of stunned surprise, perhaps even horror, in the open blue eyes and frozen expression, and realized what it was Dumbledore had seen.

Potter smirked. "Oh come now, Snape, surely by now you know that there is absolutely _nothing_ I can't do now? Yes, I killed him; it was one of my first assignments. Anyway, after the revelation of just how "grandfatherly" Dumbledore really was, I ran from Hogwarts and managed to get to Britain. I ran right into Bellatrix Lestrange. Imagine how surprised she was when I told her all that had transpired. I wanted to be brought before Voldemort. She did, and I told him everything."

"But _why_, Potter? Why go before someone even more evil?"

Potter idly waved his hand. "Who of us on this Earth is _not_ evil, Snape? After finding out Dumbledore's true colors, I became disillusioned with the "Light" of life. Light never wins; it's always broken, or the darkness warps it a shadowy grey. In Light, there is no real possibility to serve the "greater good". I realized this. I made a decision to join forces with Voldemort."

Snape could not help but shake his head in shock. What had happened to the cocky, mediocre fifteen-year-old he had last seen? "Why the Dark Lord, Potter? What was so attractive about him?"

Potter cocked his head. "Snape, all my life I have been abused, neglected, lied to. Warped and evil as he is, Voldemort never lied to me. It was such a treat for him when the bloody Boy Who Lived knelt and pledged my service to him." He straightened. "Of course, Voldemort did not quite know what to make of me, so I was sent to the dungeons, which meant torture. For almost six months I was here, being tortured within an inch of my life."

"You look perfectly fine to me," Snape growled.

Potter snorted. "Then I suppose you haven't seen _this_ yet, I suppose," he answered coldly, and he turned his head to show a long white scar that ran from the edge of his right eyebrow to the very tip of his mouth. "Wormtail did this to me on Voldemort's orders," he explained, smirking at the stunned look on Snape's face. "He sliced my face open with a dirty knife. There are more." He shrugged. "Somehow, I survived. Although do I remember you asking how _I_ could have killed your dear Headmaster?

"My compassion was burned to ash during my time in the dungeons. I was changed, Snape, in ways you will never understand. I became Voldemort's student, his most powerful, and the most determined; I earned his grudging respect throughout the years, even as I lost pieces of my soul along the way."

"You have no soul now, Potter," Snape snapped; how could he, after all he had just confessed to doing? "If you ever had one."

"True enough," Potter replied. "I lost mine when I stood before Voldemort." He shrugged again. "People may tell me I will burn in Hell, but I have no soul to burn." His eyes brightened with intensity. "I'm damned, Snape, and I've learned to enjoy it." With that said, he turned and walked away towards the door.

"What made you turn to the Dark, Potter?" Snape called back at him. "Why take up the very thing that ended up killing your parents?" He didn't understand what would make Dumbledore's Golden Boy become so twisted.

He was sure Potter would just walk away and refuse to answer; therefore he was very much surprised when he saw the boy stop at the doorway and turn back, his eyes shadowed. "Because I have no responsibility. In this position, I am nobody's Golden Boy anymore, I'm nobody's "Boy Who Lived"." Here he snarled again, making his words a curse, and Snape finally saw just how bitter Potter had always been about the title that had been so unfairly thrust upon him as a baby. "You must realize the beauty of that, Snape. To be without responsibility, without having the survival of Wizarding kind on my shoulders… it was an awesome idea. The world can go to Hell and I don't have to care. Because I'm not its savior I don't have to worry about being too selfish, because the Dark _is_ selfishness." And leaving Snape with this rather dark explanation, Potter disappeared into the shadows he had so readily accepted.

Snape was left alone and in the dark of the dungeons with only Potter's words for company.

_The world can go to Hell, and I don't have to care._

As much as he hated to admit it, he did concede that the idea of having no responsibility would be more than enough reason to embrace the Dark Arts. Especially for Harry Potter, a boy who had had the weight of the Wizarding World on his shoulders since the age of one.

_The world can go to Hell and I don't have to care._

Snape doubted that there was a way for Potter to be redeemed. For one thing, the boy did not seem to _want_ redemption. And there was something about him, a kind of hardened weariness, that spoke that the Potter everyone had known was gone. He seemed to be now a killer, and a firm believer in Voldemort's cause.

Snape could remember hearing a Muggle saying a number of years ago: 'The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.' At the time he had merely scoffed at the words- how could a light cast a shadow? He'd taken it as a typical illogical Muggle saying. But now he understood. He understood that the warning in the words, that if ensnared by the Darkness in life, the Lightest person would be the most negatively affected because they'd have the farthest to fall. Snape wondered what would have happened if the Wizarding world had paid attention to that Muggle saying. Would Dark wizards such as Grindelwald and Voldemort, and now Potter, have gotten the chance to _become_ Dark?

_Well, there's nothing we can do about that now,_ he thought bitterly to himself. He didn't know why he was still alive- why had Potter spared _his_ life? To jeer? To torture him to death? Probable, that. Potter had been quite correct about one thing; there was absolutely _nothing_ he wouldn't stoop to.

_A/N: I hope you liked the surprise of this chapter. Another update will be coming along as soon as I can type up the next chapter and post it._

_Could you believe that I wrote this listening to Enya?_


	3. Shocks

"_**Chapter Two: Shocks  
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Two days passed, and Potter had not yet come back. Just as well—Snape found his hatred of the man had not diminished. He was left in the black of the dungeons with his own thoughts and feelings to reflect. Every once in a while he would hear someone walk past the doors although no one came in.

When he _did_ hear the door open, it was not quietly. It was instead more like a clap of thunder that smote the silence, so much so that it almost hurt Snape's ears. The sound of the door closing almost covered up the sounds of a scuffle, but Snape was able to pick out the figures of four struggling prisoners pushed forward, blindfolded, by two Death Eaters. Following them were Potter, Voldemort, and a small, black-haired woman with a disdainful face that Snape recognized instantly. "Bellatrix."

Although her name was only hissed out between tight lips, Bellatrix Lestrange immediately looked over at him through dark, heavily-lidded eyes. A thin, dangerous smile spread across her ravaged face, a remainder of her incarceration in Azkaban. "Severus Snape! So sorry I couldn't be here to visit you before, but I was busy with so many more _important_ things…"

"Go to hell, Bellatrix!" Oh, how _good_ it felt to shout that at her, it was something he'd wanted to do for years.

Her dangerous smile deepened. "Tsk, tsk, Snape. No respect. Should I teach you some?" She moved closer, drawing her wand. Snape met her gaze without flinching. Before anything could happen, however, Potter came over and roughly grabbed Bellatrix's hand and thrust it down.

"You'll do no such thing," he told her matter-of-factly, meeting her dark eyes fiercely. "Professor Snape is mine to deal with when it is time. Until I decide what is to be done with him, he will _not be touched_."

Snape expected the fanatical woman to react indignantly. Therefore he was very much surprised when she did nothing but back away from with a respectful bow of her head, giving Potter the same worshipping look she usually reserved only for Voldemort. Clearly, somehow, Potter had become a god to her. "Yes, of course, my Lord," she replied quickly, but the look of loathing she sent Snape's way told him if it were up to her, he'd be on the floor screaming. Truthfully, Snape thought he'd prefer Bellatrix's torture than Potter's. "I meant no disrespect," she continued softly, backing up farther. Potter watched her leave almost and then turned to Voldemort, who had come back from another cell, with a grimly amused look on his face.

"What is to be the prisoners' fates, my Lord?" he asked quietly.

The Dark Lord slowly stroked his wand and seemed to contemplate the question. Finally, the lipless mouth formed a cruel smirk. "Death, young Harry," he answered in a snake's hiss. "There are four of them, two of them Mudbloods. Would you like the honors?"

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Certainly, my Lord," he replied without hesitation, and left for the adjourning cell. Bellatrix went back to the audience chamber, most reluctantly, at Voldemort's bidding, which left Snape with the creature he had served for so many years, and then spied on for just as many.

"Ah, Severus, Severus," Voldemort purred, still smiling that cold smile. "I must give you such credit for fooling me the way you did all these years. Ever since I killed Harry's mother, was it not?"

Snape's insides lurched when hearing the mention of Lily. "You must be proud of yourself," he answered despite himself. "You killed the mother and now you've claimed the son."

"Oh, I've done more than claimed him, Severus," the Dark Lord said quietly in a voice of triumph. "He is _mine_, mine completely. I was not sure if I would be able to turn him from the Light, but it turned out very well at the end—otherwise I would have had to kill him. But look at him now, killing in cold blood! Following his killing of Wormtail, I wasn't sure if he'd stomach it…"

Wormtail? Peter Pettigrew was dead? When had _that_ happened? And _Potter_ had killed him? He was always short-tempered, Snape remembered—it was nice to know that hadn't changed.

'_I'll be dead by next Tuesday,'_ he thought to himself.

Thirty minutes passed and Snape was again left in the darkness without company. But finally Potter emerged, and Snape regretted looking at him. Blood stained the boy's robes and boots, leaving behind red footprints. His hands were stained as well. He noticed Snape staring at him and chuckled softly.

"Shocked, Professor?" he asked, smirking. "This isn't the first time."

Snape couldn't help but respond to the taunt with a thought that had been bothering him for a long while. "Did you have fun with the Mudblood before you killed her, Potter?" he sneered. "Did you force yourself on her and leave her begging for mercy?"

Potter stopped. "You think I would stoop to such a level?" he asked, and by the way he looked at Snape, the potions professor knew he had genuinely _shocked_ Potter, something he hadn't sure was possible anymore. But it was there, in the tensing of his shoulders, the slight widening of his eyes, even the way his voice lifted a little. "I may be a monster, Snape, but I am_ not_ a pervert. Whatever you may think, I kill quickly."

"Like you did Peter Pettigrew?"

Potter shifted, his eyes piercing Snape's own. "You heard about that? Well, I must say I am surprised you only just now found out, it was quite the conversation when it happened. Of course, several Death Eaters believed it had been Voldemort himself who killed him, perhaps as a punishment for his stupidity. Pettigrew was unbelievably stupid, you realize. But I killed him. He ruffled one too many of my feathers one day." He shrugged. "I don't really remember doing it either- one moment I had been standing there trying to ignore him, the next my wand was drawn and his body was bleeding itself onto the floor of my rooms. Did you ever realize how badly blood stinks, Professor?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "I never did get the smell to leave my rooms. It's still there. But I suppose that's how it should be."

"And yet you never hesitate to torture prisoners, even to madness," Snape said angrily, shifting in his chains.

But then Potter did something Snape didn't expect. Instead of coolly shrugging off the insult like usual, now he really did freeze. He didn't even seem to breathe for a long minute. And then he shook his head slowly, and suddenly he seemed much younger, nearer to his twenty years than ever before.

"I never do," he said softly, and even now he sounded somehow vulnerable. "Never to madness. Not anymore, not since three years ago… I don't even think she's sane, not at all."

Who the hell was he talking about now?

"Do take your time making sense, Potter," Snape growled. "Who did you torture to madness?"

Potter's head tilted, his eyes lighting with confusion. "You don't know?"

"How can I possibly know unless you tell me?!"

"The Order should have known. She would have told you."

"_Who?"_ Snape snarled, his patience finally snapping. How he wanted to wring the boy's neck!

Potter's lip curled, all signs of vulnerability vanishing. "Hermione Granger, of course, Snape," he said. "Voldemort let her go, after all—after I tortured her with the Cruciatus Curse, of course."

_A/N: It's been a while since I updated this, but since I posted a section of this story up, I decided I would finish this. I already have a lot written up, although I'm not too sure about the ending, so I'm curious—looking at Harry, do you think he should die or live?_


	4. Explanations of the Past

"_**Chapter 4"**_

_A/N: So, I've started college, it's my third day of orientation, and I love it. The college is amazing, but I come home so tired—I was outside all day today, and yesterday I helped primer the outside of a house for "Into the Streets". (The house had to be dry-scrubbed before we did that, and it was originally painted with lead paint and it had asbestos in it, so we had to wear masks and goggles. Fun.) I've typed up this chapter because it was already written down and I didn't have to think about anything while I did it. Enjoy!_

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Darkness had settled upon the manor's walls by the time Harry left the dungeons behind him for the night. Perhaps he noticed this, but he had grown so accustomed to the dimly-lit halls and dark-colored rooms. Cobwebs stirred in his wake as he passed, his robes billowing behind him as he walked briskly to his quarters. No one else was in the halls, which he rather preferred—he had always liked the silence, even as a young boy living in his cupboard at the Dursleys.

He hadn't thought of the Dursleys in years, ever since he'd killed them. They weren't worth remembering. Two years into Voldemort's training, shortly after Harry had killed Peter Pettigrew, the Dark lord had called him to the audience chamber and had proposed a trip to Privet Drive.

"_After all, Harry," _Voldemort had smiled thinly, _"they must be frankly terrified that you've been missing for this long."_

It had been a load of dragon dung saying that, and Voldemort knew it. He knew of Harry's hatred of his relatives, had seen the memories of abuse and disrespect and slave-like work. With those words, he had given Harry the perfect opportunity to deal out a punishment for his relatives—and he had not hesitated. That very night he had left for the house he detested, careful to cover his tracks and his identity.

The Dursleys had not been expecting to see their hated nephew walk smoothly into the living room at eleven at night; nor did they ever expect to face a cold-eyed young man clearly bent on revenge who had taken their nephew's place. Of course, Vernon Dursley had tried muscling Harry out the door.

He had been the first to die. It didn't take long for the fat Muggle man to break down screaming and sobbing from the different curses Harry had used on him, begging first for Harry to spare his life, then later pleading with him to end it. Harry had not paid attention to any of it, drawing out Vernon's death as long as he was interested in looking at his uncle's agony. When finally he was bored with him, and Vernon Dursley's smoking husk lay burning in front of the television, Harry had turned to his aunt Petunia, who had been forced to sit through her husband's torture and death.

"_G-get out o-of here, freak!"_ He _had_ been surprised that she was even able to still speak, as petrified as she was. _"I-I'll c-call the police!"_

"_Now really, Aunt Petunia, do you honestly think that I'm not prepared for anything? You won't be able to call anyone; I've put silencing Charms around the house—otherwise everyone would be able to hear you screaming."_

It had taken much longer to tire of torturing Petunia than it had his uncle. When at last he had become unimpressed with her screams, he'd simply killed her with the Avada Kedavra curse, the floor and walls stained and squelchy with blood. The scent of Vernon's burnt carcass and Petunia's coppery blood still stayed with Harry after all these years. He had calmly left the house, seeing that his cousin Dudley was out with friends. Let poor Dudders find his parents—he had considered killing his cousin as well, but then had decided that finding his parents dead, mangled bodies would be the perfect punishment—it would probably drive him to insanity.

Ignoring the sounds of screaming from the floors below, Harry entered his quarters, shrugging off the bloody robes he wore and Vanishing them away. Keeping only a few candles burning in the corners of the immense rooms, he stripped himself of everything to rid himself of blood, then washed himself thoroughly, feeling like he was, in some way, Pontius Pilate as he did so, washing himself of guilt.

When at last he was considerably clean, his hair still wet from the water, he changed into some comfortable pants—

And caught a sight of his back in the mirror. It still caused him to wince at the horrid crisscrossing scars that shone white—all inflicted by knives, spells, even whips. The Death Eaters had become quite creative in their methods of torture when he had been in the dungeons for those long months. Were they something to be ashamed of? They showed he was made of stronger stuff than one would think—Voldemort himself had said so.

He had been truthful with Snape before; he was the Dark Lord's most determined follower—if only to show himself that he could accomplish something, that he could handle a task, even if it was murder. He had not told Snape the other reason—that without taking upon responsibility for himself, he was not responsible for the deaths of others. He had escaped the guilt of being the reason why people died.

Sliding a loose tunic over his head, he pulled new robes on and left his quarters, heading for the audience chamber.

He had news about the Order he thought the Dark Lord would find most interesting.

_A/N: Up next, we'll get a peek into Voldemort's pov as the author leaves Snape in the dungeons_. _Fifth chapter will be up whenever I get it typed up, it'll probably be up by Sunday night if I don't get distracted by anything._


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